


And It Shows

by cruentum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Kid Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Self-Lubrication, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruentum/pseuds/cruentum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drunken toilet sex, no condoms. If someone had told Jackson that the werewolf thing came with that bit of extra he would have taken care (maybe).</p>
            </blockquote>





	And It Shows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnTheGround2012](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheGround2012/gifts).



> Dear on_the_ground, I mixed and matched some of your prompts and likes and hope that this works for you. Thanks to C and L for the beta.

**Minus 9 and a bit**

The lights did their thing. The shimmery shiny thing that they only did when Jackson had had a few too many. He'd had a bit before coming over for the party, and he'd had more here. It'd gone to his head at some point, he figured that much, but all the rest of it was the bass of the music now and laughing at Greenberg's jokes when they weren't funny at all.

"You should give it a try, that's all I'm saying," he'd said to Danny a while ago, in that corner over there, while he'd groped for Danny's cock. "I'm sure you'd like me." The alcohol had whirled about somewhere between leaning in and putting his lips to Danny's ear.

"I like you just fine," Danny had said and pushed him off to go with someone who looked like he did drama, not sports. And Jackson and the bottle of vodka had trailed after him in the wake of the ultimate insult, because what was Danny seeing in that guy, until Danny had shut a door in Jackson's face and Jackson had used the chance to take his vodka and himself to the houseplant in the corner. 

A few girls stopped by, cheerleaders, but the vodka was more interesting, the bottle hard between his thighs. He'd not thought of pussy since the last time he'd been tongue-deep in Lydia. Since… before really. So it had been a while. Weeks?

(Whenever he hit delete on his browser history it scrubbed the cocks from his personal memory as well, that's how that worked. He figured that that accounted for all the times he woke up in the morning and did not remember going to sleep, the times he had nightmares that seemed too fucked to be true, and definitely all the times he tried to shove something up his ass until it made him come without touching his cock at all. Thinking of all the cocks he saw in porn and none of the cocks he saw most days around school. Obviously. He'd not been like this before.) _Delete._

Vodka made his mind loose. Made it spin into circles, ghost memories (fingers in his ass, all night most nights now, mouth going down on a bottle neck like the gayest loser, getting wet… Getting wet, wtf) slipping into craving and tightening everything in his stomach, making his dick hard. Blame the fucking alcohol on that. He'd punch someone's (no names hm) face in most days when it got like this, when he was feeling empty in all the wrong places and needed to pin it on someone else.

"Stilinski!" Jackson called across the floor, down a stair case, where Stilinski stood with McCall. They had their heads together like they were planning something, and then it was McCall who looked up towards him and sent Stilinski on with a clap to his back. Touching him. And Jackson wanted to punch them both but he'd settle on one of them.

Jackson propped himself up against the wall and, when Stilinski was close enough, shoved him into the door, tight, using his whole body to keep him there.

"Eugh, you've had a few," was the first thing Stilinski said, face so fucking close, and Jackson got hard like someone snapped their fingers like that, hyper-aware of Danny coming on the other side of the wall and nearly spraying himself. He had his fist clenched and ready to land it somewhere when Stilinski's hips rocked up into his own and made him wet and made him drop back into the middle of the night, wanting cock to get him just right.

"Danny's in there," Jackson said, nodding at the door. Nodding at the grunting, too. "With someone." He looked down at himself tenting his jeans, shifted the bottle of vodka over it, between the two of them, and away again because Stilinski was looking and it only made Jackson harder and made him want Stilinski to look.

Stilinski looked over Jackson's shoulder where McCall was still at the bottom of the stairs, shrugged with his arms going crazy. He was half turned to the stairs when--

"You should fuck me," Jackson said, with his cock, his brain sloozy as he drank some more. "Up the ass." It came out as he pressed Stilinski into the wall cock-first, came out on a background of white noise rushing past his ears.

"W-what?"

"Seen your dick in the showers. It'll do. It should fuck me. Yeah." Jackson had some more vodka, and things blurred as Stilinski's dick grew, and then-- cut

His head was killing him when he woke up with dream fantasies of himself face-down ass-up still branded into his retinas. The house was dark, music still playing, and he'd faceplanted into the vodka-drenched soil of the houseplant. Most of the doors were half open, some people in beds, others strewn across the house, a group of them still talking by the porch door. Jackson stumbled along, one hand on the wall the other down the back of his jeans until he had his fingertips pushed just into himself. His cock pressed against the fly of his jeans, damp semi-circle where the head was.

Stilinski stood in front of the toilet, one hand on the wall, and was pissing as Jackson stumbled in. "Whoa, hey there. No no, shoo, shoo." Stilinski waved his arms around but Jackson didn't care about his arms.

Even soft, Stilinski's dick was bigger than most of the things Jackson had seen in the lockers. Or on the internet. Stilinski's fingers didn't quite fit around it and he was long, fingertips to somewhere below the wrist long. Made for porn long. Made for Jackson's secretly cached mental imagery long. Jackson stared. Stilinski gesticulated, still pissing. 

"I'm everyone's type," Jackson said as he wrestled the shirt over his head. And he was. He was hard and his ass was wet the way it got these days. He didn't think about that. It was just something that happened that made it easy for his fingers.

"You should try that on Danny," Stilinski said, but he still had his dick out and in hand, eyes about as unfocused as Jackson felt, both their hands holding on to walls for a bit of stability.

"He's not here." Jackson undid his jeans and tried to remember the porn he'd watched, tried to remember what it had been like with Lydia, but it'd been a while since they'd fucked in toilets at a party. And she didn't have a dick.

"Wait, are you gay?" Stilinski asked.

Jackson what-the-fucked because what did that have to do with anything and watched as Stilinski looked him over. Stilinski had him stand there naked, and looked him over, and Jackson let him, even as he was dripping down his thighs.

Ten minutes later he was looking at himself in the mirror, hands braced on the sink while Stilinski stood behind him, fingers scratching down Jackson's spine to his ass. Jackson's jeans hung around one ankle, Stilinski was still dressed with his cock smearing over Jackson's ass, catching in sticky fluids.

"Fucking lubed," Stilinski said and other things about effort and despair but at least one of them wasn't a virgin. Technically.

Jackson heard the porn soundtrack in his mind as he was told to bend over and take it, as Stilinski babbled and smeared the lube up to the small of Jackson's back, and then there was enough to drip off Jackson's balls.

"Condoms?" Stilinski asked, and Jackson muttered, "You're a fucking virgin," and that settled that.

Stilinski had his hands on Jackson's hips as he sunk his cock in. They looked at each other in the mirror, Stilinski's face swimming in and out of focus, so Jackson put his head down and jerked his dick as Stilinski fucked away at him. It burned at first and then didn't, then was just the hard thrust and something splitting him open, and fuck, that was what Lydia had had. This was what being fucked felt like when it wasn't just his own fingers.

Jackson pushed back into the fuck, presenting his hole so that Stilinski could sink in deep. This was better than his wet dreams. This had Stilinski's scent all over him, marking him up inside. Stilinski scratched his fingers down Jackson's back, leaned over him until his chest poured heat into Jackson's muscles, hips thrusting away. Every roll of Stilinski's hips pressed Jackson's cock against the rim of the sink, but that was secondary when Stilinski began mouthing at the back of Jackson's neck where Derek had sunk his claws in. He got the skin between his teeth and tugged and sucked on it, hammering away at Jackson's ass. Jackson tried to close his eyes but he couldn't look away from himself like this.

He came looking at Stilinski's o-face, his come spraying on the side of the sink, smearing into his pubes and stomach as Stilinski squelched in his ass with the last few thrusts.

The light coming in through the bathroom window woke Jackson the next morning. The tiles were freezing underneath him, Stilinski far too close spooned against him from behind. Jackson twisted out of the embrace.

Bloodshot eyes, stomach and crack mucky with come. He didn't remember much but his ass remembered enough.

"Congrats on losing your virginity," Jackson said under his breath to no one particular, really, as he pulled on his clothes, made himself halfway presentable and hoped that Stilinski's memory was as fucked as he was passed out, or the curling unease on the backdrop of well-fucked would have bit a bit harder in his chest.

"I thought you'd be on the field Saturday," Danny said at the lockers come Monday morning. 

"Got busy." Jackson had just passed Lydia, who'd walked past him like he didn't even exist, and just shrugged. Then he saw Stilinski, and his cock got hard.

***

**Minus 8**

The delete key was broken.

Jackson woke in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and rubbing off against his bed, fingers in his ass and dreaming of Stilinski giving it to him good. Fucking desperate at that. Nevermind he'd come twice before he went to sleep, he fucked himself with his fingers, cock just brushing up against his sheets until he came all over them again.

For the last few weeks just being near Stilinski made Jackson get hard and want to bend over in the middle of class and take it. Stilinski seemed oblivious which was just as well. It didn't help at night, though. It didn't help right now when he was half asleep and mad with wanting to fuck, when the back of his neck burned with it.

Jackson pulled on some clothes and stole out of the house, the night clear. He was hard, his ass leaking and he just wanted something ~~Stiles~~ in it. His jog took him into the park and through it, following the winding lane until he was in front of Derek's house. The rotten wood on the porch creaked under his feet as he hesitated in front of the door, then cupped his hands to peer in through one of the windows.

"What do you want?" Derek said from the far corner of the porch.

Jackson whirled around, a handful of explanations bubbling on his lips but Derek cut him off with a gesture of his hand. So? his eyebrows said.

"What's happening to me?" Jackson settled on when the thought was clear enough over the thrum of his blood.

"Walking around at night? I don't know, you tell me."

"I can't stop thinking about-" Jackson caught himself but Derek just raised his eyebrows into a frown of doom, and Jackson gestured at his crotch and ass and that wasn't even touching on sex not slipping from his mind for more than a few minutes at the time. "Is that what it's like for- is that what it's like after the bite? After?"

Derek strolled closer, frown morphing into curiosity. Stroll morphing into stop and stare and sniff. "You're... oh."

"What?"

"You had to go and get fucked, didn't you?"

"What?"

"You reek of someone else's stink all over you."

"I don't-"

Derek shoved Jackson up against the house, pinned him with one hand to his chest. "Wait-" He reached into Jackson's jeans (what the fuck about that and cock going fully hard in seconds), then sniffed his hand. 

"You had to go and get fucked, didn't you?" Derek repeated. "So who's the baby daddy?" 

Jackson landed one punch square on Derek's jaw, the second one missed and he found himself face first against the wall, Derek pressed up tight behind him (cock meet ass meet fuck). Derek growled, no moon in sight, and his teeth nicked into Jackson's nape where he still had the scar from before, where he had Stilinski's mark too that he'd rub at sometimes but it wouldn't fade.

Jackson stilled, threat of teeth sinking in. But Derek just sniffed him.

"You get that punch for free," Derek said. "It's not every night you get to find out you're carrying spawn-"

Jackson tried to free himself but Derek held fast.

"I wasn't sure if you were- receptive. It's one of those things you figure out when someone starts rubbing up against people ass-first. Hm. Maybe I should've known?" Derek sounded like he was smirking, flippant, while Jackson's stomach dropped as the words sank in. "I can't say I've seen it in a male... Now, who's the missing piece? Another wolf? McCall? Don't tell me you've been fucking-"

"No. No one," Jackson said against the wood, tasting damp.

"Now that'd be some magic. Who? The guy with the- the gay guy? Him?"

Jackson shook his head.

"I can just put my nose to your leaking hole and take a sniff to figure it out."

Jackson said, "Be my guest," then quickly shook his head. He'd delete all of it later. Thanks for the memories. "Stilinski," he said.

Derek paused for a second, then let Jackson up. Jackson turned, leaned against the house front. "You two…?" Derek asked.

Jackson's dick got hard but that didn't mean anything these days. He shook his head again and looked down himself. His stomach was as flat as ever. "This is a joke, right?"

"No. No, it's not."

Life terminated. Game over.

***

**Sometime between minus 7 and minus 6**

Fall edged into Californian winter, but Jackson spent most nights outside now, wandering Beacon Hills when no one else was there. Derek was around often, standing at the corner of the old casino, near the post office, at the edge of the park, sitting on the back of the bench or walking behind Jackson, echoing his steps.

Derek's words rang in Jackson's ear. Every now and then he'd put his hand to his stomach and imagine he could feel something.

 _Make up your mind,_ Derek's presence was saying.

Jackson ended up at the playground. It was shrouded in gray. He sat on the bench next to the seesaw and imagined having Deaton go in and rip out the baby now, take it away, and he'd be back to Lacrosse in a few weeks.

Some wind came up and sitting there in a t-shirt he was freezing, but the alternative was sitting in his room, alternately turned on and going out of his mind with racing thoughts.

He saw Stilinski at school the next day. He knew he was there before he'd spotted him from his cock getting hard in his jeans and his ass leaking into his boxers. Getting fucked was on his mind. The way he looked getting fucked, the way Stilinski looked fucking, the way his cock pushed into him and dragged back out, pounding away at him. They locked eyes across the hallway, then Jackson disappeared into the toilets and escaped into a stall, cleaning himself up best he could with some toilet paper.

"I'm not going to blab to anyone, you know," Stilinski said from the bathroom, voice carrying over the partition. "As far as I'm concerned no one needs to know you're into getting fucked."

"I'm not," Jackson called back.

"Could've fooled me," Stilinski said with his smug smile practically twinging in the words.

The door banged hard into the wall as Jackson pushed it open one moment and had Stilinski bent backwards over the sinks the next. "No one. You tell fucking no one what happened."

"Whoa, whoa there big boy. That's what I just suggested. No one needs to know. The secret's safe with me. I'm great with secrets." He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

Jackson's cock got hard against Stilinski's hip, with his scent just there for Jackson's nose. It clouded his brain, it fucked with it like Stilinski's hardening cock had fucked his ass.

"Got a thing for toilets?" Stilinski asked. 

Jackson punched him and left him spluttering blood into the sinks. It didn't make his hard-on go away.

When he was out that night, he knew. "I'm good," he told Derek at the corner to the warehouse. "Thanks," he added because it seemed appropriate.

His parents, they'd never had a chance at this. He couldn't really throw that away. Maybe something decent would come of it. Someone decent.

The next night Derek didn't show.

***

**Minus 6**

Awkward #1 _Mom, Dad, there'll be a baby_ had been earlier that weekend. Deaton had been there with the scans and the bloodwork, some fancy photoshop if the womb was anything to go by, and a handful of specialist though fake credentials while Jackson had zoned out (biology, hormones. He'd been too busy staring at his stomach).

He'd left them to the confusion when talking hadn't made anything clearer after the fourth turn-around of syndromes Deaton had had him memorize by heart. His mom had said that she didn't know he'd been like that, "you have to believe me," they hadn't told her at the adoption. Jackson didn't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't that he'd been born with ovaries and crossed hormones but that he'd walked up to someone in the woods and just wanted to be a little bit special.

"If you want to be a girl," his dad had said. Jackson had shook his head. It turned out men could have children, he'd told them but he wasn't sure how much of that had sunk in.

He'd dawdled the rest of the weekend in the mall, standing in games stores and clothing stores, wandering about until Sunday afternoon loomed and now that he'd made a decision he'd have to stick someone else with it.

Awkward #2 came when he rang the doorbell at Stilinski's place, dusk just falling on the Sunday night. He'd texted his parents that he'd be home late, the one promise his mom made him give, given the circumstances, as she'd put.

Stilinski's dad opened.

"Sir," Jackson said. "Is Stiles in?"

"Jackson." Stilinski's dad opened the door and pointed upstairs. "Last I've seen him he was busy with... something up there."

"Thanks." Jackson pushed his hands into his pockets and walked up the stairs. Stilinski's scent got more intense the closer Jackson got to his room. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, made his pits sweaty. It also made him want to bend over right there. He knocked before he pushed the door open. Stilinski sat with his face an inch from the computer screen, back stiffening before he'd even turned around to Jackson. A moment later he frantically turned over photos and print-outs on his desk and shoved everything into an untidy heap. A photo of some kind of monster was still on the screen but Jackson didn't exactly care.

Stilinski was hard, Jackson could smell that over his normal scent.

"You." Stilinski said.

Jackson tried to ignore his own hard-on and wanting to- (he'd not slept through a night without waking with his fingers up his ass). "Secrets?" he asked as he stepped closer, casually turning over the print-outs, scanning the headlines. He didn't give a shit about any of that until Stilinski's hand closed around his wrist, elbow brushing against Jackson's cock--

The next moment his mind wasn't clear enough to think at all, he was on his knees in front of Stilinski's desk chair, Stilinski's boxers shoved down, his cock in Jackson's mouth, Jackson's fingers in his own soaked ass. Stilinski had a hand on Jackson's head and though Jackson was pushing down on the delete key and on having come here for a reason, for now the reason was in his mouth and there was nothing he'd rather be doing.

The slurping sounds made him flush but he couldn't stop himself from going down again and again, forced his mouth down on Stilinski's cock, let him set the pace while he squelched his fingers in his ass in sync.

Stilinski's fingertips pressed into Jackson's skull as he fucked his hips up, balls slapping against Jackson's chin with every thrust. Jackson closed his eyes to it and lost himself in this and whatever held them this close that he wanted to be on his knees for Stilinski more than just about anything.

Jackson shot into his jeans when Stiles' cock pressed deep enough to choke him for a moment, when Stiles came down his throat and all he had to do was swallow it all down. He kept sucking, cleaning him up until Stiles pushed him away, fingers on Jackson's cheeks, tracing across his brows and lids, and Jackson sat back on his heels.

The fingers came out of his ass with a squelch. He looked at them, then cleaned them on his boxers. They were done for anyway. 

"It's a werewolf thing," Jackson said over Stiles' annoying panting for breath. "Fuck." As the haze of orgasm dissipated and the craving simmered down, the reason that wasn't giving blowjobs to people he didn't particularly like, floated to the forefront of Jackson's mind again.

Jackson gestured between the two of them. "This thing, it's a werewolf thing. The thing at the party, that was a werewolf thing. And that it made a baby, that's a werewolf thing, too."

"W-what? What what what what?"

Jackson looked up, looked down at the come stain on the front of his jeans. "I'm- there's a baby inside me. It's from when we fucked."

"Fucking how?"

"Freaky werewolf science? It turns out I should have made you use a condom." Jackson grinned at Stiles as he got up and pulled his t-shirt from his jeans to cover the stains in front and back, but the expression froze his face. "I figured you should know."

"I'm not- I'm not, that wasn't the plan. Can you get rid of-"

"I'm not. I thought you should know. That's all." Jackson paused. "Now you know. Trust me, I didn't think that this, _any_ part of it would happen. You. Me. It's not- there's nothing."

"You can't just, surely I've got a say in this," Stiles said as Jackson turned towards the door. "Man, I'm not ready for this."

"I just came here to let you know," Jackson repeated and made himself walk away even as the pull in his stomach suggested getting back there and getting on his knees and burying his face as deep in Stiles' crotch as possible.

"How do I-" Stiles shouted as Jackson was halfway down the stairs, but Jackson didn't stop.

"Sir," Jackson said to Stiles' dad as he walked out. When he glanced over his shoulder, Stiles stood at the top of the stairs, but Jackson walked down the front steps and kept going.

***

**Minus 3, roughly**

"It's some hormone thing. I don't know. I told you," Jackson said to Greenberg during lunch. Most of the lunch looked disgusting to him but at least he didn't get nauseous at every little thing anymore. Danny snorted into his pizza next to him. He was one of the few who knew.

He'd told Coach he'd have to stop playing early on, with a whole stack of doctors' notes to explain this new condition without mentioning babies at all. Now that he looked like he'd doubled his weight no one asked why he wasn't playing. They just assumed. He kept his head down when people made the bullshit comments he'd have been likely to make a few months ago. He was on smalltalk terms with McCall and Argent, with Lydia, Danny, and that was plenty for him.

Stiles sat two tables over. Jackson knew without turning around.

A few weeks ago when he'd been with his parents in the Wal-Mart parking lot, they'd run into Stiles' dad. Between the awkward silence, some hellos and no talk of how Stiles' sperm had found his way into Jackson's orifice of choice, Stiles' dad had said, "He'll come around. I know he will."

Jackson had shrugged, the fucks he gave had been numbered (two, one and a half, really, blowjobs count for fifty percent at most, sixty since it had been his mouth and Stiles' cock?)

"Can you keep me updated with things?" Stiles' dad said over shopping carts and fresh produce.

"Sure, yeah," Jackson had said.

These days whenever he ran across Stiles' dad they stopped for a brief chat, a laugh even over the lacrosse results now that he wasn't playing, Stiles' dad squeezing his shoulder for good bye, telling him to let him know if he needed anything.

Who knew if Stiles had seen any of the scans. They both tried to maximize the distance between them.

(Handjobs didn't count for fucks at all, Jackson had decided. Obviously.) They didn't talk.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Jackson said to Danny at the end of lunch. "Doctor," he added by the way of explanation and waved his note around.

Deaton had him read up on pre- and post-natal care, scanned him, and slowly but surely, it began to preoccupy Jackson's mind, and his world narrowed to him and his baby.

***

**Minus less than a month**

The oversized sweaters were something Jackson couldn't get used to. Neither was his descent down the popularity ladder into jeering territory. He was the fat kid who sat on his own during lunch. Lydia had stopped by that day, ask how he was but she'd gone off to sit with someone else. McCall was busy with some mystery or Argent or both.

Stiles walked into the cafeteria and out again, but who gave a shit about that?

Protip: no one. The handjobs had stopped.

Jackson left most of his lunch on the tray and walked to his next class. Stiles and McCall sat behind him, and Jackson couldn't shake Stiles' glare into the back of his neck and the way his cock responded as soon as he was even within ten feet of him. It still did, after months of nothing.

"That baby's yours, too, you know," Jackson said as he brushed past him after with a hard-on. The moment the words were out, Jackson wanted to swallow them up again because who gave a shit.

Still no one.

Stiles looked at him wide-eyed and hurried away for Lacrosse or video games or any of things he did that Jackson had replaced with, well, sitting in his room and having nothing to fill his days with.

He met Deaton in his practice later. Derek was leaning against the cupboard in the corner, arms crossed over his chest as Deaton ran Jackson through complications, possible outcomes and that the best, safest way was to have the baby on the metal table right here like some dog they were going to put down.

Derek left the room when Deaton checked on the baby, fingers up Jackson's ass to feel around. Jackson just closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.

It wasn't until the middle of the night that he had his phone in hand and thought of shooting Stiles a text. With his dick hard somewhere below his stomach and the baby pressing up against everything, he'd have liked someone to do this with.

He didn't text him. He watched some porn before bed instead and tried to figure out how to tell his parents that he wouldn't go to the hospital for the delivery.

***

**Plus/minus nil**

The pain that had started in the middle of the night got worse as the morning went on. "Don't call Stiles," he'd told his mom early on when she'd made motions to. He might have put the baby in him but that's where it stopped.

"I think it's happening," Jackson said around noon, and Deaton and Derek stood comically decked out in surgical gear in his parents' well put-together living room. The TV was on the Food Network, vegetarian rice salad on the menu, while they made Jackson kneel on all fours, legs spread, like he was waiting for someone to fuck him.

They got his parents out, and then Jackson just followed the sun's progress in the window until it disappeared and the moon came up. It wasn't a full moon.

"So much for your fucking symbols and rituals," Jackson ground out between pain and pushing.

Derek patted his head awkwardly until Jackson pushed him away and only sunk his hands into Derek's thigh to get the pain out somehow. 

"Just get it out," he pleaded when the moon was swimming in his pained tears and his ass felt like it was ripping apart. He buried his face in Derek's lap and let nature do whatever perverted nature had planned all along. 

The baby's cries brought him back around from the haze of pain, Deaton slipping the baby between his legs and elbows into Jackson's clasped hands. 

"It's a girl," Deaton said. "Congratulations."

Jackson wiped the baby clean best he could with some towels. She gurgled, then cried a bit, as Deaton cleaned him up. They got Jackson into his own bed, his baby on his chest and latching onto his nipple with a strong suck.

Jackson didn't notice them leave, because the baby in his arms was his, and she was fucking perfect. More perfect than he could ever hope to be. She was his.

"Hey baby," he said, fingers shaking as he brushed over her head. "Hey baby."

He called her Jana because it was, well, a lot like his own name. Simple.

Jana slept on and off for most of the night, most of the next morning, and when she wasn't she was eating or crying. Jackson's mom showed him how to diaper her, and even if even sitting up was hellishly uncomfortable, he made himself get up and carry her to her bed, to her stroller, made himself walk around the house with her to show her some of that world she was now a part of.

"What if I drop her?" he asked his mom in the kitchen, not sure if he was squeezing too hard or wasn't holding her tight enough.

"You're fine," his mom said, chuckling, and she looked at him with just a hint of something she'd never had and a lot of the rest of it, all warmth and love. "She looks like you, you know," she said.

"Of course. She's perfect," Jackson replied, only half joking, obviously, or really, not joking much at all.

"Have you told Stiles?" his dad asked that night when he got in.

Jackson had sent a text in the morning. No reply. He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

***

**Plus four or five days, give or take a few hours**

"I thought you might want to see her."

Stiles had only opened the door a sliver. He had one of these graphic tees on that spelled sixteen, and Jackson was still too sore and achy and exhausted to cut him much slack.

"Right, yeah. Hi there."

Jackson picked Jana from the stroller and she mewled a bit but quietened down quickly.

"Jackson? Come in," Stiles' dad said from behind Stiles, frowning at his son as he pulled the door wide and shouldered boxered-t-shirted-and-barely-up-at-noon Stiles out of the way.

"Sir, thanks."

They headed into their living room, Stiles trailing behind and sitting on the edge of the sofa as his dad held Jana, Jackson on the other side of the sofa, watching Stiles' dad because he didn't particularly want to look at Stiles either. With the last few months not seeing him much, he'd forgotten how his body got around him. Even sitting a few feet apart wasn't close enough for the thing inside him and not far enough for his brain. He clenched his fingers to fists to avoid giving in.

"She's- everything is fine about her. She isn't..." Jackson started. "Just in case, I don't know, if you were worried. She's normal. Not-" Jackson vaguely gestured at himself. "She's great," Jackson added. "When she's happy, anyway."

"I bet." Stiles' dad laughed. "Stiles, don't you want to-" Stiles got up and left the room, footsteps thundering upstairs, door closing. "Sorry about that."

Jackson shrugged. It'd make it easier, right? If Stiles didn't give a shit about either of them, maybe he'd stop giving a shit about him. Tell that to his dreams and his body in the quiet hours of the night when Jana was asleep against his chest and he missed leaning against someone else. 

He left the letter with Stiles' dad and got it back signed within the week. It'd be him and Jana, then. They'd be good.

***

**Plus six weeks**

The swings were swaying in the wind, some leaves tumbling through the sand. Jackson sat on the bench by the seesaw, Jana sleeping in the stroller. A pair of kids was playing on the slides, their moms on the other side of the playground.

"Seat taken?" Derek asked, appearing out of nowhere. He pointed at the spot next to Jackson.

Jackson shook his head and Derek sat, glancing in to Jana's stroller but then leaned back. "You good?"

Jackson laughed. "Mothercare 101?"

Derek shrugged. "Whatever you want to call it."

"Yeah. It's different, I don't know."

"Stiles?" 

Jackson shook his head. He tried not to think about it most of the time. He'd turned back to porn when he felt the need, and his own fingers, and if it made Jana all his, he was fine with that. She'd get to have at least him for better or worse (better, honestly, obviously better).

"I should have worked harder to convince Danny to fuck me," Jackson said, only half-joking "He'd be here now."

"Maybe. It doesn't work that way though."

"Yeah, I got that." He didn't hate his body any more. Most days. He didn't regret having asked Derek in the first place. Most days.

***

**Plus barely 2 months**

Jackson messaged Lydia only when they were almost in L.A. _I'm going to London._ They'd packed up in the middle of the night, a suitcase for him and one for Jana, her stroller, his laptop. 

"You shouldn't--" His mom.

"I can't stay," Jackson had replied before she'd even finished the thought as he'd closed the suitcase.

They didn't talk much in the car. Jackson alternately watched Jana sleep or the lights streaking past the window outside. His parents had tried to tell him that it was a bad idea to go to an entirely different country with a kid this young but Jackson had shown them the enrollment for university, the visa for both of them, and they'd had to swallow it.

"Whatever you want," they'd said after the birth.

It wasn't about going there, it was about getting as far away from here as possible.

The brightness of the airport bit into Jackson's eyes (… right), but he got them checked in and their luggage dropped, and now there was only dropping a few words of goodbye in the middle of the concourse, people milling around them. His mother was crying, his dad holding Jana, and Jackson had their tickets and passports.

"What the fuck- do you think- you're doing?" came the shout halfway across the departure floor, Stiles skidding across the tiles until he crashed face-first into Jackson, nearly bringing both of them tumbling down.

"You," Jackson got out. Lydia and Scott were standing at the sliding doors.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Stiles repeated and thumped Jackson in the chest. Jackson shoved him back.

"You weren't supposed to know until after."

"Well fuck you. She's my daughter, too."

"Could've fooled me," Jackson bit out. "I got the signature to prove it."

Jana started crying on his mom's arm and when she couldn't quiet her, Jackson took Jana from her and tried to calm her and his own racing heart. With Stiles this close it brought everything back from before: the pull in his stomach that made him want to shift closer, the ache as soon as he thought about leaving, feeling empty in all the fucked-up ways.

"I need to get away," Jackson said. He hugged his parents goodbye, got Jana in her stroller and walked off towards security.

"That's not fair!" Stiles called after him. "That's not fucking fair."

Jackson didn't believe in tears. These weren't fucking tears on his face. 

That was it then.

***

**Plus 3 months**

The view from his apartment was of the trash bags and concrete, a washing line fluttering in the wind and hitting the window every now and then. Newcastle wasn't London but he had his own place for three hundred a month. Jackson's phone vibrated on the floor next to the bed but he was diapering Jana, then forgot about it.

 _Your parents gave me your number,_ the text read. Then, _This is Stiles_.

Jackson stared at phone for too long, left it, came back to it, then deleted the text.

 _We lost tonight. It was pretty sad. :(((( ← that is my sadness_ , Stiles wrote the next morning as Jackson was feeding Jana who hadn't slept well that night and was fidgety in his arms. _Derek keeps glowering at me whenever I see him. Creepy._ Jackson grinned, thought about replying, but didn't.

 _I stayed up all night looking at the moon. Double creepy,_ Stiles wrote followed by a picture of himself with dark bags under his eyes.

A day later, _Sorry. For things._

Jackson took a photo of Jana smiling, they were celebrating good and happy days, victories here amongst colds and indigestion and diarrhea, and sent it to Stiles. It wasn't quite apology accepted, but maybe it was going there. He was honestly too tired to tell one from the other.

***

**Plus 5 and a half, nearly 6 months**

Jackson still struggled with the freezing weather (and with cars on the wrong side of the road and with-- )

The rain was coming down hard now but he'd made it back before the worst of it. He'd packed away the shopping and then got Jana out of the stroller and into her bed. The books for his business degree were stacked on the floor next to Jana's bed, but most of the spines were barely cracked.

 _We're still losing. You sure you're not gonna come back for the last one in the season?_ Stiles had texted earlier that day, and _Fucking candy crush. Arrgggh._ , and _Does she like the toy I sent?_ Jackson sent a photo back with her slobbering all over it.

Jana gurgled, then started crying and he picked her up and settled on his bed, back to the wall as he pushed up his t-shirt and let her latch onto his nipple.

"I'm just staying for a while," he said to people he met. "At work," he'd say when they asked where the mom of his pretty girl was and it'd be a bit of a lie.

Jana had her eyes closed as she drank. Jackson brushed her hair from her forehead and sank a bit lower on the bed, closing his eyes just for a little while with her body warm in his arms, her heart beating against his. He'd have to look at job applications later for when Jana could go to nursery, figure out what he wanted to do other than take care of her. Figure out his life.

Only when she was asleep for an hour or two in the middle of the night, he let himself stare out the window and wish for things. He'd not wanted to get fucked in a while, not since her birth but it started up again now with the dreams, with wanting someone and stupidly, still, wanting Stiles. Stiles and his fucking texts. There were wolves here. He heard them sometimes, saw them from the corner of his eye as they streaked around the house at full moon and moved on eventually. Jackson fingered the silly bruised fuck slash love bite that had never faded since the night in the toilets.

Stiles had texted earlier, to say good morning. Jackson should stop but with only Jana around most days it was nice to have adult conversation. Well... "adult", though some of the photos...(he only took them at night, it made it easier to face himself in the mirror in the morning).

Then Jana woke, crying, and he was out of bed, half-hard cock deflating further, and had her up to change her diapers, have her drink for a while until she fell asleep in his arms again.

***

**Almost plus 9**

The rain started coming down again when he was out with Jana. That's just the weather here, love, the locals would say and darling him as he handed over the money. Jana had charmed the old ladies in the store and he flushed deep red when they muttered about her having a pretty mom to go with a handsome dad, nodding to it, before they fled back home. She was crying as he shouldered his way through the front door and then tried to find his keys to get into his apartment, himself out of the wet clothes and her out of the stroller.

"Hey princess, hey," someone said from the dark of the staircase going up, then, and pushed the rain cover out of the way to lift her out.

Stiles' hair was longer, was Jackson's first thought, followed by getting hard like some depraved sex addict, but Jana just quieted as Stiles held her against his chest, rocking her a little. He'd never held her before.

"Hey princess," Stiles repeated, smirking at Jackson though the cracks underneath were visible from space nevermind from where Jackson was standing. Jackson was still caught between punching Stiles' lights out and bending down to suck his cock, or both.

Jackson opened the door and pushed the stroller in. His apartment looked the way apartments do for three hundred a month but Stiles just walked to the bed Jackson hadn't made up in the morning and sat against the wall the way Jackson usually did, with Jana in his lap. The bed probably reeked of him.

Jackson put away the shopping, milk and bread and some ham, some vegetables, some chicken, some more milk, trying to think of what to say until Stiles said, "I think she's hungry," from the other side of the room over Jana's mewling.

"It's her lunchtime," Jackson replied, chicken in hand.

Stiles patted the bed and Jackson hesitated but he figured they'd have it out later, with some answers and some accusations and maybe a bit of pushing and shoving and no fucking whatsoever (right…), but for now he sat next to Stiles on the bed and took Jana from him. Stiles pushed Jackson's shirt up his chest, thumb catching on Jackson's nipple. Jackson caught his hand before it did anything else because he needed a bit more time for this even if his body had other plans. Jackson brought his knees up to rest Jana comfortably against his chest, while the back of Stiles' hand rested against Jackson's skin as he caressed Jana's face.

"I'm staying," Stiles said a few minutes later. "That's okay, right?"

Jackson nodded. Yeah, that was okay.


End file.
